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Charlie said politely, but with finality, ‘Well, here’s the lowdown on family discord, sire. I’m not your family. I met you five minutes ago. I am an Australian citizen—’
The king’s smile stopped him mid-sentence.
‘Actually, Kyriacou, you are a Hellenican citizen,’ Grandfather stated with well-bred relish. ‘You are a descendant of the royal family. You have been Hellenican, subject to its laws and regulations, from the moment you stepped into the consulate in Canberra.’
The silence was absolute. Even the servants didn’t breathe.
After a minute that seemed to take an hour, the king went on. ‘My word is law in Hellenia. You will do as I tell you, and leave only when I allow it.’ He smiled at Charlie in barely restrained triumph.
Giulia’s face was pale as she turned towards her brother. Max lifted his brows.
Jazmine felt herself gulping on air. Whatever Charlie said or did, unless it was capitulation or an abject apology, would only throw a landmine into Grandfather’s proud, stubborn face—and, on five minutes’ acquaintance, she felt sure ‘capitulation’ and ‘apology’ were words as foreign to the prince’s nature as they were to the king’s.
After an interminable minute, Charlie answered without the expected fire. ‘Without prior knowledge of Hellenican law, we’ve been subjected to false imprisonment, which is subject to international law under the terms of the Geneva Convention.’ He smiled back at Grandfather, whose lined, regal face whitened. ‘You made a mistake in underestimating me, Your Majesty. I will not be forcibly detained here. Nor will I allow you to force my sister or me to accept the positions. We are not political prisoners. If you make us such, I’m sure the world media would love to know about it.’
War declared—and it was about to be accepted. Before she knew it, Jazmine was on her feet, looking down at Charlie. ‘May I speak with you, please, Your Highness?’
Arrested by her intervention into the hostilities, Charlie turned and looked at her. A brow lifted as he searched her eyes. Jazmine’s panic grew as he seemed to be looking past her projected calm. Seeing more than she wanted him to.
‘Of course, Your Highness. I’m at your service.’ Just as slow, seeming almost insolent, he rose from the chair, stood and held an arm out to her as he’d seen Max do.
He was a quick learner when he wanted to be…but the challenge in his eyes told her the changes would come only in his time and way.
This man definitely had hidden depths—and, as he’d said to Grandfather, it was a mistake to underestimate him.
‘Do the goons get in line every time you move?’ he said in a conversational tone as they headed to a parlour, and four Secret Service people followed at a discreet distance.
‘Actually, two of them are yours. They’re here to protect you.’ Resisting the urge to pull her arm from his—the Secret Service would report the disharmony to Grandfather—she checked his reaction.
Bad mistake. The brows were up over laughing, derisive eyes. ‘Protect me? A little, five-foot-four Miss Perfect is going to take me down? I need help handling you?’
She nodded at their combined minders to step outside, then closed the parlour door behind them. ‘I’m five-foot three,’ she retorted, intensely aware of keeping her dignity. ‘And, though we both know it isn’t me you need protection from, I have a green belt in karate.’ She could also fly a jet and combat swim: they were basic requirements for the royal heirs of Hellenia.
She wondered if that would pique his interest; he was a man of action after all. How would he take it if he knew that both she and Max, whom he saw as pampered royals, could do all he did and then some?
Charlie grinned. ‘Are you going to bring me to the mat? Want to know how many ways I could take you down, princess?’
She shook herself. This half-sexual banter put her in a ridiculous situation; it was beneath her. ‘We’ve just come out of ten years of civil war. There were ten million people in Hellenia fifteen years ago. We’re down to eight million. Lord Orakis tends to eliminate competition in violent ways, and you and I both stand in his way. The king doubled the protection of all the royal family three years ago.’ Afterthe palace attack. And she intended to change the over-the-top protection levels, too, if—when—she became queen. He had to listen to her. He had to.
Charlie’s brows lifted again, and she guessed he was digesting another facet to his unwanted elevation in status.
She sat down. ‘We should get comfortable. There are things you need to know.’
‘Shake out the list, it’s miles long.’ His tone was as dry as new wine as he sat opposite her. It seemed he was a man who liked his personal distance. ‘We might need to ask the goons to bring in dinner and breakfast while they’re out there doing nothing.’
The words made her hesitate; he was already on edge, and obviously didn’t want to belong here. She abandoned her original, perhaps too harsh, words. ‘Life is very different here—’
He laughed, hard-edged. Words couldn’t adequately describe the wealth of half-repressed emotions it held.
Trying again, she forced herself to hold to her resolve. He’d been here less than an hour and he’d been threatened, had been given veiled bribes, and told he had no rights. A man like Charlie was bound to react badly to that. ‘No doubt you’ve been brought up very differently to those of us within the royal family, but you’re no longer in Australia.’
‘Gee, thanks, Dorothy. If I could find my red shoes I’d disappear back to my life and career, and make everyone’s lives easier.’ He cocked his very handsome head back in the general direction of the door. ‘His Furious Majesty’s less than impressed with the new heir.’
Strange that his speech sounded so arrogant, yet she heard rough exhaustion, and his acceptance that Grandfather was right to be unimpressed. ‘I’m trying to help you, but you’re not making it easy,’ she said, repressing the urge to grit her teeth.
At once his face and deep, velvety eyes softened, and again Jazmine felt that odd loss of emotional equilibrium. She felt less princess, and more…
‘I’m sorry, princess. I’m sure you’re as unhappy with this situation as I am.’ He swept a hand over the suit. ‘Even in the borrowed threads, I’m nobody’s idea of a prince. Believe me, I know. I’ve had enough ex-girlfriends informing me of the fact.’
Oh, but you could be, she almost said, but he was obviously uncomfortable in his new skin. Showing him possibilities, or ordering him around, it would be alienation to him.
No, just alien. He can’t be expected to see life asI’ve been bred to do.
Charlie had grown up ignorant of his heritage, in a modest four-bedroom brick home he’d occupied with his sister and friend until two days ago. Instead of years of royal training and sterling education at an international school and Oxford, or perhaps Yale or Harvard, he’d gone to a local high-school and had gone into fireman and paramedic training. He was a Marandis only in name. No, in Charlie’s mind, he was a fireman from the backblocks of Sydney. He’d had no time to adjust, saw no reason to adjust.
Grandfather had made a tactical error in his peremptory summons and enforced extraditions of this pair. He expected Charlie to obey orders he didn’t understand, to see his expected future as an honour, and accept his position when he had no idea what that future and position entailed. He’d made a mistake in expecting Charlie to bow to the royal will without full knowledge of why he and Lia were so necessary to the continuation of the Marandis royal family.
And, to Jazmine’s mind, wanting him to be a traditional Marandis was as impractical as it was counterproductive to the future she had planned.
‘Do you mind?’
Startled out of her plans, she looked at the cause of her hope and confusion. He’d shrugged off his jacket, and was tugging at his tie.
To her surprise, she smiled. ‘Only if I can take off these heels. You have no idea how much they hurt after a couple of hours’ standing.’
He grinned. ‘Go for it. I won’t tell.’ He tugged at his tie and pulled it off, then undid the top three buttons on his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves. ‘Hasn’t this place got air-conditioning?’
‘This house is almost four hundred years old.’ Charlie’s untamed golden masculinity, exposed in the open column of his shirt, emptied her head of everything but the need to stare her fill; to cover her pounding heart she added with would-be calmness, ‘The real palace does, but we haven’t lived there in a few years. It’s still being repaired.’ She half-expected him to ask why it was taking so long, or make a caustic comment on spoiled royals wanting everything perfect.
Instead, he said gently, ‘I’m sorry.’
Confused again, she lifted her brows in query.
He smiled at her. ‘Lady Eleni told us about the palace fire-attack during the war, and your father’s and brother’s deaths so soon after the war ended. It’s no wonder you agreed to this engagement. Security’s not to be sneezed at after all you’ve been through.’
Moved yet unnerved by kindness from a stranger, she turned her face. ‘I barely knew my father or brother.’ She willed control against the vast sorrow that there wasn’t time to know Father or Angelo now. She turned back, forcing a smile. ‘I was sent to school in Geneva when I was eight, and then attended finishing school. I was at university in London when I became Princess Royal, and summoned home. Father was busy with his duties, as was Angelo. I’d only been back here a year or two when they—’ Without warning, her throat thickened. Control, control!
‘I see,’ he said very quietly.
She closed her eyes, struggling to go on.
He leaned forward and touched her hand. ‘Lia and I lost our parents when I was seventeen. We’d all lived together, all three generations, all our lives, and Yiayia and Papou were fantastic, but…’ He smiled at her. ‘It’s okay to cry sometimes, princess. I know I did my share when I felt so alone I could scream.’
The words were beautiful and foreign to everything she’d been raised to believe. Don’t cry, Jazmine, her father had said at Mother’s funeral, when she was seven. You are a Marandis. You are strong!
Her spine straightened. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’
The kindness and warmth vanished from his face. ‘Sorry; I crossed the royal line. There’s proof that I’m not a real prince, and I never will be.’
‘But you are,’ she said softly, backtracking fast, and letting the fact click into place: he doesn’t likebeing locked out. ‘Like it or not, you’re a Marandis, Charlie, and we need to discuss—’
‘Mmm. Say my name like that, and I’ll discuss whatever you want.’ A smile curved his mouth. ‘Char-r-r-lie,’ he said, as softly as she had, but with far more sensual intent. ‘I never heard the Mediterranean burr in quite that way before. Your voice is so blurry and sexy. I love listening to you, Jazmine.’
And his eyes, lingering on her face, said, and Ireally like looking at you.
He spoke her name as it had been pronounced: Zhahz-meen. One word, just a name she’d heard ten-thousand times, but he’d turned it into silk and shadows, with the summery sensuality of a lush Arabian night.
Without warning, a new kind of wolf had leaped from his lair; the hidden lion was pouncing. He’d spoken to her not as princess, but as man to woman. And she felt the slow melt inside, feminine liquidity racing like quicksilver through her body. He’d taken her from blue-blooded princess to red-blooded woman with just a few soft words.
She’d never met a man like him before. He was unique, an unexpected prince in a fireman’s skin, all hot-blooded male. He’d never learned to hide his emotions as she had. And, by his words, the look in his eyes and the slow burn in his touch, he wanted her to know he found her attractive. He didn’t play diplomatic games; he didn’t know how. This golden-skinned, dark-eyed man, strong and beautiful, a hero as much as any from the pages of TheOdyssey, found her as attractive as she found him.
‘And, as regards this engagement, it’s a farce. I don’t want to be here, and the last thing you need is a man who’ll never fit into your world. Nobody can force us into this kind of thing in the twenty-first century. I swear on my life I’ll get you out of this.’
She started out of her lovely daydream as his words sank in. And her heart sank right down with it.
CHAPTER THREE
CHARLIE saw the instant distress in her eyes—the intense disappointment—before something clicked back into place, and the warm woman she’d been became the ‘Mona Lisa princess’ the tabloids called her: picture-perfect and smiling, comfortable in the public eye, if remote somehow. ‘What makes you assume I want to get out of this?’
He stared, wondering if someone as lovely as the princess could have only half her marbles. ‘It has to be obvious. Even a real-life princess must want the whole nine-yard cliché: the handsome prince, babies, a palace—and a happily-ever-after. It’s only by accident of birth I’m here. I’m a Sydney boy, a rough-mannered fireman. I don’t have class, I don’t do “for ever”—and I’m certainly not the guy who’d make your life easier. I’m not what you’d call easy-going.’
Her smile grew, but it wasn’t one he liked. It made him feel out of control, and that was a feeling with which he was neither familiar nor comfortable. ‘It seems I have at least six of those yards, Your Highness. A palace—’ she waved her hand around ‘—and, if we married, babies would be part of the deal, I’d assume.’
His heart darkened at the thought of it. Royal children with royal minders, who’d have to bow and scrape to His Majesty’s every whim? Not on his life. ‘Four-and-a-half yards aren’t enough for a woman like you.’
‘I hadn’t finished,’ she said softly. ‘In my opinion, I have a handsome prince, even if he’s a reluctant one.’ She broke the smugness with a bitten-lip grin, the woman in her peeping out for a moment, and he found himself responding in kind. ‘If I must marry, I’d rather have a firecracker than a dog rolling over on order. You have a mind of your own, ideals and dreams. I respect that.’
Damn. Much as he liked her words—she’d made it obvious she found him attractive, and liked both his temper and his independence—now he had to be blunt. ‘As tempting as you are, I don’t want to get married, princess. I could never become what you’d want in a prince. I couldn’t stand the constant intrusions into my life you endure from the press every day. It was bad enough after the fire a few months back, but if I had to handle it on a daily basis I’d end up hitting someone. Not very royal behaviour, is it?’
She shook her head, still smiling. ‘I noticed your discomfort with the press—it was obvious in every photo. But, rest assured, we’d help you to acclimatise to that sort of thing.’
His jaw clenched tighter. ‘I don’t want to acclimatise,’ he said baldly. ‘I can’t think of a single benefit in being here. I want to live my life without black-suited goons following me and cameras waiting for every stuff-up I make—and I will make them.’
Jazmine nodded, as if she’d expected him to say it. He found himself wondering what it would take to rattle her cage, to put a crack in her perfect composure. ‘You do realize that the only way you can go home is by repudiating your position, which likely means your sister will go home with you?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t see a problem with that. Lia likes her life at home.’
Her voice filled with gentle amusement. ‘Have you asked Lia what she wants, or are you taking it for granted you can make a decision of this calibre for her?’
He felt his jaw clench. ‘I know my sister. She’s happy living with Toby and me, running her business and teaching the kids.’ Well, happy enoughnow, he amended silently. After her failed attempt to enter the Australian Ballet on the heels of their parents’ death in a car crash, it had brought on her dance with death-dealing anorexia. If it hadn’t been for Toby’s complete devotion to her returning to health—staying at the clinic with her day and night around their firefighting training-schedule—she might not have made it. Toby wasn’t only the best friend he’d ever had, the brother he’d always wanted, he was the only person Lia trusted with her secrets.
Suddenly he wanted to hear Toby’s voice saying everything would be okay, he’d be there soon, though it was sure to be said in four-syllable words he favoured. ‘Lord of the Dictionary’ Toby might be, but he was the staunchest, truest friend he and Lia could ever have.
There hadn’t been any joking camaraderie or long words when they’d talked to him from the Consulate in Canberra. Toby’s silent reaction to their sudden disappearance ‘on family business’, unable to say when they’d be home, unable to call again—unable even to talk it through with him as a result of the officials listening in on every word—had been an almost more frightening reality than the jet they’d been about to board. He, Lia and Toby were family. None of the three of them had ever kept secrets from each other, as far as he knew.
Now he and Lia were secrets. Secrets of state. And he hadn’t felt this alone since his parents’ death.
‘You know what your sister wants without asking her. I see.’ The amusement lurking in Jazmine’s eyes grew to an outright twinkle. She was so pretty, with that sparkle lighting her up from within. He’d always had a thing about that rich-chestnut colour, and she had it in a double dose: her eyes and hair. No wonder she was known as the last single beautiful princess in Europe, feted and courted by all the noble bachelors within five-thousand kilometres.
I could be the one kissing her next. I could takeher to bed in a matter of weeks…
And thinking about that, looking into that face, suddenly the whole prince-and-arranged-marriage gig didn’t seem so bad. The perks of unexpected royalty had never come in a more tempting package than Jazmine Marandis.
He dragged himself out of those thoughts before they turned dangerous. What had she been saying? Seeing something… ‘You see what?’ he demanded.
‘I see why you and my grandfather clash. You both believe you know what’s best for others without asking what they want. You’re more of a Marandis than you realize.’ Jazmine’s infuriating half-smile grew. ‘So you know she doesn’t want to be a princess, live in the palace, marry a young and handsome Grand Duke— Oh, and inherit the fifty million euros that is her inheritance and dowry from the duchy?’
Fifty million euros? Charlie felt a cold shiver run down his back. Good God. He hadn’t thought about the money; he’d been too furious to think. He’d concentrated on what he would lose, what he wanted.
What about Lia? Would she want the money, the lifestyle, the whole thing? What if she was attracted to the Grand Duke? Would Charlie ruin everything for her because he wanted to return to his life?
As if tapping into his thoughts, Jazmine asked conversationally, ‘Have you always made decisions for Lia? I hear she runs a successful ballet school. Do you decide what concerts she’ll do, check the accounts, or help her run it?’
‘Of course not,’ he snapped, hating that she was right. He had no right to decide for Lia. And he was really irritated that the snooty princess was holding all the cards. He knew nothing of this country, his new family or the laws. The only power he had was his independence. His ‘pig-headed pride’, as Lia put it.
He grinned suddenly, thinking of his sister as Princess Lia. Just as well his name wasn’t Luke, or this whole thing really would have been a farce.
But, much as he hated to admit it, the ‘Mona-Lisa princess’ sitting across from him was correct. The title suited her, he thought sourly, with her intriguing, frustrating little smile, and eyes that saw too much. He had no right to decide the future for Lia. His shy, family-loving, homebody sister might hanker after the fairy-tale ending most women dreamed of, and after everything she’d been through she deserved it.
‘What do you want from me?’ he growled, backed into a corner for Lia’s sake.
As if knowing she’d boxed him in, her smile turned hopeful. ‘I only want you to give this life a chance before you disappear. And, please, stop trying to be my white knight. If you’re no prince, I’m no damsel in distress.’
He felt the flush creeping up his neck. She was right. The fireman in him had crossed the world to a new kind of burning building, ready to carry out the helpless female trapped in a situation not of her making…or liking.
The muscles on her face didn’t move, but he knew she was smiling inside. That mysterious twinkle in her eyes, lurking deep, fascinated him with her unspoken secrets.
‘And?’ He could tell there was more.
‘There’s more at stake than your privacy, independence and pride, Charlie. Lives hang in the balance.’ She leaned forward in earnest entreaty as she said his name again, and a hint of soft cleavage showed through the correct folds of her silky blouse.
Was her skin as silky-soft? Would she say his name with that sweet, sexy little burr as he slipped that blouse from her shoulders and down…?
Shove it, jerk. She’s a princess. With her minders,there’s no chance of touching her before thewedding night. And a wedding night—or awedding—just isn’t happening!
The only reason he was listening to her was because he didn’t know what Lia wanted. He knew what he wanted. And that wasn’t about to change, no matter how pretty and appealing the princess was. Because she was a princess, she came with her own set of royal chains, and he wasn’t the guy to slip his wrists into the king’s cuffs for any amount of money or power. She was bred to this life. He was here by accident of birth.
‘So whose life is at stake?’ He was proud of the even tone. Control established.
She frowned, her head tilting a little. ‘You don’t want to know what your inheritance is?’
For a moment he was tempted. Then the realization came: she’d only asked to weaken his resolve, to appeal to his greed—and when that didn’t work no doubt she’d try another tack. She’d keep gently chipping away at his walls until, deprived of a safe perch, he’d fall off. And, like Humpty Dumpty, if he fell no amount of king’s horses or men would put his life back the way it had been.
Surely she’d seen enough of him to know the only good he could do this place was to get back on that jet and return to his anonymous life in Sydney? If he hadn’t even been able to help his own sister through anorexia, how the hell could he run a country?
‘No, thanks,’ he said abruptly. ‘If I can’t take it home with me, there’s no point. So, what are the stakes? Whose lives “hang in the balance”, as you put it so eloquently?’
She’d bitten her lip as he spoke—not on the outside, no, that wouldn’t be classy enough for the perfect princess. But she’d worried the inside of her lip, and for some reason he couldn’t fathom he found the act touching…sweet, and somehow lonely.
